Not what I expected
by fariegirl270
Summary: "Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he smirked, yet again. His hand worked his way from my shoulder to my lower back, sending chills shivering down. He leaned in next to my ear, dangerously close. "But it's okay, it's sexy as hell" he breathed.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

**Prologue:**

He grabbed my arm tightly, fingers leaving bluish rings. After a sharp intake of breath, I found the courage to bravely retort—though the words came out more feebly than I planned—" What do you think you're doing—you insufferable—"

But my words were abruptly cut off as he slapped me clear across the face. Stars exploded across my vision, and I would have hit the ground, had it not been for his hand—his Quidditch-strength, horribly rough hand—that held me suspended in the air. I still slipped downward, and his nails left rivers of red on my pale skin. My descent marked a new low, as I was brought face to face with his crotch. I tried to avert my eyes, ashamed. A heat colored my cheeks. _Why does he make me feel like this?_

"Don't talk to me that way! Do you know how much I love you? I can't stand you looking down on me—" his gruff voice broke off, thick with emotion. I could feel him shaking with it. My heartstrings pulled in sympathy at his words. _Do I really cause him such pain?_

But then his free hand shoved my face into his pants, nearly suffocating me. I dared not take a breath, for fear of what that would invite him to do, what new horrors he could introduce…

My knees were kissing the ground, and I wished nothing more than to lie myself upon it, have it caress me in its coolness. _Why had it come to this?_

Yet the universe did not yield my wishes.

Suddenly, without warning, he shoved me against the wall, the back of my head cracking. My vision rattled back and forth upon impact, and I heard the resounding thud in a detached sort of way. Thoughts becoming clouded, I tried to rake in a breath.

Somewhere, as if from far away, I heard a door slam shut, but maybe that was just my heart. My movements became heavy, but I registered the "Silencio" charm resonating throughout the room. _He's not going to stop…_

Unadulterated fear coursed through my veins, it was the only thing keeping me alive right now, as my body fought to succumb to the darkness.

Sweet, sweet darkness….

So this part of the story doesn't come into play until later. I want this piece—I say piece because I don't want it to be a traditional "story"—to be one that appeals to many genres—hurt/comfort, yes. But also playful, and surprisingly sweet. A real "heartstring tug." Or maybe you just want to be amused. Whatever vous aimez! Hope you enjoyed this vignette. Reviews mucho appreciated:) Criticism also.

Always,

F.G.


	2. Beyond Limits

Disclaimer: Of copyrights, I have none. The characterizations belong to the master sensei, JKR, herself.

**Chapter 1:**

The canary cream found its way into Neville's unsuspecting mouth. The poor sop was falling for yet another one of George's jokes. Again. Sure, it was most expertly placed—who would've expected the innocent-looking treat, perched delicately on top of the all-you-can-eat dessert buffet, a product of yet another Hogwarts celebration feast—but really, that smirk on George's face was more than a giveaway. A cat-that-swallowed the canary smile—or in this case the mouse-that swallowed-the canary smile—was serving as a blaring sign. And the sight George's idiot side-viewers, Ronald, Harry and Lee, hanging off the edge of their seats, practically salivating themselves in expectation… well it was all too obvious what was about to happen.

And yet I couldn't bring myself to utter a warning. Maybe it was the extra study sessions I had crammed in the past week, or the pressure of applying for my Healer's internship this summer—the one everyone expected me to get—but I couldn't work up the energy to protest this lunacy.

George raised an eyebrow in my direction and then winked playfully. I rolled my eyes—to hell if he thought I was going along with this madness. I was just too tired to care.

I tried not to wince at the loud noise that exploded from my left. Closing my eyes, laughter surrounded me as I struggled to reign myself in. _If I didn't see it, there's no violation,_ my conscious argued. I couldn't resist a peek at the now bright yellow feathered Neville.

The sight of Neville as he transformed back to normal—so indignant, feathers sticking out of his hair at odd angles—was so ridiculous, I fought back a smile tugging at my cheeks.

George clapped me on the back, quipping, "Didn't know our little bookworm here had decided to cross over to the dark side!"

"What?" I sputtered. "If you think that for a second I approve this sort of behavior—you must have really gone off the deep end!"

Despite my strong words, I felt the blush creep into my skin. _Was I that transparent?_ My hands gripped my bookbag nervously, wringing the worn fabric.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he smirked, yet again. His hand worked his way from my shoulder to my lower back, sending chills shivering down. He leaned in next to my ear, dangerously close.

"But it's okay, it's sexy as hell" he breathed, his voice suddenly husky. His eyes bore straight into mine, holding me immobilized.

His hand continued to rub frustratingly slow circles on my back. Everything felt gloriously free, like floating in lukewarm water. His arm snaked around my waist. "You should do it more often."

My stomach suddenly dipped. I was falling, but I didn't want to stop. As my bag cluttered to the ground, I broke from my trance, only to face the arrangement of stares coming from the rest of the table. Ginny looked slightly amused, but the rest of the boys—my boyfriend in particular—looked scandalized.

"Oi, get your hands off her, you pervert!" he seethed. I could practically feel the scorch of his stare from across the table. Any embarrassment from George's touch quickly faded as I growled, "I can take care of myself, Ronald!" The rest of the table resumed eating, accustomed to our daily fighting. Only George looked on, bemused.

"Oh is that what you call it? You were drooling all over him," Ron sneered, directing his attention to me. I folded my arms across my chest, trying not to take the bait.

"As if," I said, working my words out slowly, punctuating each syllable. "But you can get over it either way." Calmly removing George's hand from my waist with only the faintest of blushes, I slung my arm across the table and walloped Ron on the cheek. Wrenching my books off the ground, I stood and attempted to make a graceful exit.

I chanced a look at Ron, who sat dumbfounded, and Ginny, who planted a kiss on Harry, rolling her eyes and already rising to chase after me, and despite my anger I felt…awake.

It was good to be back at Hogwarts.

/

The sock I was working on did a little wiggle as I half heartedly flicked my wand. Ginny lay next to me on my very large, comfy bed—one of the benefits of being head girl.

"Yes, but you have to at least _try_ to understand where Ron is coming from. Even if he is a git sometimes." She eyed me warily, as if braced for a reaction. I sighed, closing my eyes. "You're right, of course."

"I'm tired of fighting. Tonight—I tried, I really did. But I was oddly out of control of my emotions." I glanced in her direction, and my breath caught. She was wearing the trademark Weasley grin that looked so distinctly _George_ that it disorientated me.

"Hmm…" I waited for her to say more, but she let me off the hook. Seeming to sense my thoughts, she rolled over to hide a knowing smile. "You have been happier lately," came a muffled reply out of the pillow.

"Yeah, what with class and this internship…" I trailed off, hoping she would humor me and not pursue it. _That was one road I was not willing to walk down—not tonight, not ever. _I shuddered.

"Hermione, I know better than to take that for an answer. You hide it well, but I'm worried," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"I just… I feel tired of fighting." The sock shifted from maroon to gold and back again with a wave of my wand. "I mean fighting school and pressure and all that," I amended quickly. Closing my eyes, I hugged my knees to my chest. _Don't think about it—don't let yourself. Be strong, Hermione._

A single tear found its way down my cheek, but before time could skip a beat, I plastered on my brightest smile, steadied my voice, and quickly turned to Ginny. "So how about being back for our final year? And you'll be in all of our classes now." I elbowed her playfully. "I bet Harry's happy about that!"

Ginny, thankfully still hidden in the pillow, remained oblivious. "It's surreal," she sighed, "At least now I can see if he's as good with his wand as he says he is!" She peeked at me suggestively.

"Ginny! You—"

"What? Don't act like you and Ron don't know what I'm talking about!" I found myself blushing, yet again. "Actually—," I began…

"What don't tell me Ronnikins hasn't put on the moves yet! He may be clueless, but I know he has more sense than that." I looked away, embarrassed. "I'm still a virgin," I admitted.

"But you two have been dating for a year!" She turned around and sat up to face me. The sock fell to floor, forgotten. "And you liked each other ages before that!"

"Well I just want to be in love before I make that kind of commitment!" _Oops._

The teasing laughter stopped. Ginny frowned, obviously puzzled. "You don't love him?"

"Gin—that's not what I meant! Of course I love Ron. I'm just uncomfortable with the idea of giving myself so wholly to someone. It's a big step."

She looked at me skeptically. _I do love him! I just don't know if I'm in love with him…_

"Seriously."

"Well, okay. But if you think that's makes you off the hook as far as this girl talk goes, you've got another thing coming! I need advice here. Please tell me you've been to second base…"

"Perhaps." Grabbing my pillow, I smacked her gaping mouth before she could react. "But you're never going to know about it." Indignantly, she reached for her pillow, but not before I planted another brilliant shot across her ginger hair.

Laughter echoed through the dorm for what seemed like hours, until a very pompous Draco Malfoy rapped on the door. "Granger! Will you quit your screeching in there? I know you don't understand the concept of beauty sleep, but try to put yourself in my spotless shoes!"

"I don't know what McGonagall was thinking when they made him Head Boy," Ginny gasped out before again dissolving into laughter.

_If only she knew. If only she knew the reason why my smiles will never reach my eyes. _

_/_

Okay first chapter up. Please tell me what you think. Do you like this direction? Comments and Criticism welcome.

Always,

F.G.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nada. Oh and just for clarification, this is a George/Hermione fic—I just need her to be with Ron for the first couple of chapters for the story. Don't worry!

**Chapter 2: Well intended idiot.**

"What do you mean you're not coming to my practice?" Ron said as his head snapped my direction. "You promised you would!" His grip on my hand became painfully tighter, as if he were trying to force his emotions through that small contact.

"Yes, Ron, but my examinations are coming up…" I trailed off. I did need to study—but the truth was I just couldn't bear the thought of being around Ron if he happened to mess up—he would be so angry and surly—I shuddered. Ron was most certainly not pleasant during those times, and with only me to deflect his disappointment…

"Hermione, everybody knows you're going to pass your bloody exams! What I need to know is that you still support me. Am I not good enough for you?"

"You know I always do, and of course you're good enough. I just can't today!" His face bore an expression of disappointment, eyes scrunched up and lips etched into a frown. _I'm sorry, Ron. _ I tentively reached my arms toward him—any contact for comfort.

All at once, his expression changed into one of stone cold harness. "I don't need your pity," and pushing me away from him with such force that I fell of the couch and onto the floor, he stalked straight out of the Head's common room, slamming the door—not looking back, even once.

I closed my eyes for the briefest of moments, not focusing on the pain of my shoulder, nor the numbness of my hand, but only the weight left behind his exit.

Picking myself up off the ground, I proceeded to make my way to grab a book and a scarf. It was an unseasonably cold morning to be watching Quidditch.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

The sky looked a dark ominous color, threatening a large storm even as I made my way down the path.

Flashes of red and gold splayed out on the Quidditch pitch. The chasers tossed the quaffle to each other quite expertly, while the new beaters—Seamus and Dean—put on a decent effort in the bludger department. The Gryffindor team practiced how they played: seamlessly. Harry alternated between shouting out tactics and gazing at Ginny until he was caught by a fellow team member, in which case he would most sheepishly wink at her and try to focus on scouting instead. _They're so in love._ _It looks so…easy._

Finding a secluded area away from the pitch, I sat somewhat shakily on my nana's quilt, clutching a book. Steadying my breath, I opened _Spells to Charm your Patients Socks Off _and attempted to lose myself in its pages. After a few unsuccessful attempts, the book fell from my hands onto the ground.

With a crack of thunder, the sky began to weep, raining in a fine mist—not enough to warrant canceling practice, but enough to keep one uncomfortable in its icy embrace... I looked at the lake and found myself wondering how cold its depths were. _Would it be cold enough to dull the pain? _

I sat there looking at the lake, looking but not really seeing, entertaining notions that my soul but not my mind could comprehend.

"You do realize practice has been finished for over an hour right? Or were you just hanging out, hoping to get a glance at this piece of perfection?" said a teasing voice.

I glanced up, somewhat startled, only to find George standing above me. Something in my look changed his light-hearted expression, however, and he sat down next to me, fixing me with a disconcerting stare. He was close—close enough for me to feel the warmth of his arm and smell his cinnamon aftershave. I felt my thoughts scatter, like ants before a storm.

_My mind is confused enough already, and there's something about George's presence that always seems to throw me off guard… _

"Hey, what's wrong Hermione? Is it my prat of a brother?" I broke his gaze, focusing on the lace of my sneakers. _Well that was scarily accurate. _"Well—," I paused, trying to find anything but the truth to tell—any lie to tell at all, but found myself unable to with his open, honest face. "Sometimes," I admitted.

"Ah. Well that is a problem." I chanced a look and found him staring at me thoughtfully. "I guess the best thing I can tell you is that Ron means well, however he comes off. Do you want to know why I didn't play Quidditch this year?" I froze— _Fred._

"I just couldn't bear the thought of playing a sport that I had played my whole life with Fred—suddenly without him. We were a dynamic duo, each one half of a whole. I still can't bear the thought sometimes…" His green eyes reflected so much anguish, I found myself grabbing his hand. Distractedly, I thought about how perfectly his hand engulfed mine.

He hadn't spoken of Fred to anyone since his funeral. He glanced at our intertwined hands and half-way smiled.

"Anyway, Ron knew how much that would tear me up, so he tried to protect me. He tried forcing me to play with Lee, the closest equivalent he could think of to Fred, and he even dressed Lee in matching robes, with "Honorary Fred" stitched on the back." I felt George take a sharp intake of breath at remembering this. His thumb was rubbing my hand, somewhat absentmindedly. _I can't believe he's sharing this with me…_

"One day, I couldn't take the pitying stares from everybody. If it's one thing that will make you remember that someone's….not here anymore, it's the way people look at you. So I just quit. The game I loved so much wasn't worth playing without Fred anyway. Ron put on quite a show, really, yelling about how 'inconsiderate I was' after 'all he had done for me.' It was really the icing on the cake."

"Oh George," I murmured, "I'm sorry.." I bit my lip to keep it from quivering.

"So the moral of the story is that Ron is a well meaning, idiot."

"With the emotional range of a teaspoon?" I asked with a hesitant smile. "Exactly," he said. It was only after he stopped speaking that I realized our proximity. I could feel his gentle breath on the side of my face. I could count the freckles on his tan face. And his eyes—his eyes were bewitching. I could look forever into those eyes.

"Well Hermione, if I knew how much you liked looking at me, I would've come over here much sooner," George winked, eliciting a blush. I promptly dropped his hand. "George! You're—,"

"Handsome? Dashing? Dare I say it—a man capable of knocking your socks off?"

"I was going to say audacious, unbearable, and—"

"You like it!" he smirked, "And who am I to deny a lady her pleasure? Don't stop on behalf of modesty. I am more than happy to oblige," and grabbing my hand, he lifted me up, crushing me into a hug and making a big show of giving me kissing noises that were more than obnoxious.

My shoulder gave a sharp twinge at this contact, and wincing I stifled a groan. George, being the observant, sweet guy that he is, instantly let go.

"I'm sorry Hermione, did I hurt you? I—," he gazed at me, once again concerned. _Why does he care? Why is he being so nice to me?_

"No, don't worry about it," I cut him off, "I fell on it earlier. One of my clumsier moments, I guess." Again, I couldn't make eye contact. If I did, I would be sure to lose everything. Not many people have the power to call me on my fabrications, but I'm sure George would be one of them. _I can't ever let this out—least of all to him._

"I see, so what you're saying is you are horribly injured and must be administered to?" he winked. He leaned in closer, slipping his arms around my waist. His breath tickled my ear as he added, "Like I said, I am more than capable of obliging a lady in need." My body was betraying me, staying immobilized. _I couldn't move if I wanted to—and I'm not so sure I did want to move. _I shivered once again—from the rain, from the contact. He was so warm, and I found myself moving into his embrace, despite everything. "Don't worry," he said in a voice that was throaty and filled with something I couldn't place, "I'll be gentle."

I felt myself moving suddenly, as I was suddenly flipped over George's shoulder in one deft movement. From my new airborne angle I could only see the back of his head and hear the smirk in his chuckle.

"George! Put me down this instant!" I spoke in my best Head Girl's voice. It sounded particularly waspish even to my own ears.

"Oh Hermione dear, not even using that adorable authoritarian voice could convince me to let you down," he laughed. _He thinks it's adorable?_ "You forget that I made a career of defying authority." He jostled me an extra bit with his cheekiness.

"If you don't put me down, I'll—"

"Stop enjoying yourself?" he quipped.

"What, no—that's not what—," I stammered. I tried to ignore the blatant stares as we came closer to the castle. _This is mortifying._

"Don't worry, Hermione, I know you act like you don't like my random acts of tomfoolery, but I can see right through your façade!"

_That's what I'm afraid of…_

Trying to deflect the subject off of me, I asked, "George, what made you want to talk to me today? Not that I'm ungrateful that you did, on the contrary I was…_.drowning._"

"Do you really want to know?" I murmured my assent. "It was because you were…. the only person I've ever seen look…. sadder than me at a Quidditch pitch." He stiffened slightly under me and I knew he was thinking of Fred.

"Oh."

"And because I couldn't let you off the hook for voluntarily dropping a book to daydream! Our bookworm really is making a run for the wild side," he mocked.

"George? Just shut up."

"Fighting words. If that's how you want it…" _Oh no…_

He shifted me so he was now holding me bridal style. "I shall carry you across the threshold of the Great Hall while shouting about your willingness to discard a book so closely before exams all while dancing an Irish jig."

"You wouldn't dare!"

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I will continue writing, but may I please have some reviews? I feel like a beggar at this point, but my only two reviewers are Shidoni8 and ilovefireyredheads (thank you, I appreciate it!) Yet I've had over 500 viewers… that's kind of sad.

I need the reviews—just tell me what you think in a quick few words. This is so I can tailor to your expectations and take suggestions and whatnot!

Always,

F.G.


	4. Chapter 4

This chapter is George's point of view on the events of last chapter. Hopefully this will provide some backstory and insight! Thank you my wonderful reviewers:)

**Chapter 3: Schoolgirl fantasy**

I watched the Gryffindor team zoom back and forth across the pitch. The weather was terrible—windy, cold, and wet—perfect weather for a brutal, team building practice. Oliver Wood used to say that the difference between us and any other team was not our ability, but our perseverance. Personally, I thought that was a load of bullocks—just a way for him to get us to shut up and practice through the rain, but looking at their concentrated faces, I found myself somewhat agreeing with him.

I picked out the replacement beaters—Seamus and Dean. I had to admit, they were doing pretty well, for just starting out in the season. I winced in guilt—I did kind of leave the team hanging in that department. But I couldn't—I just…

All of this—coming back to Hogwarts, playing Quidditch, trying to _prank_ again—I thought it would help… bring me back to life. When Fred died, some part of me died with him. Everything we lived for—spontaneity, laughter, family—I didn't see the point anymore. He was torn away from me—half of myself was torn away—and… it was like he finally took that vacation he always talked about… except he's never coming back.

There's a hole inside of me. A connection lost. He was my everything—my brother, my partner-in-crime, my..best friend..

I closed my eyes to still my spinning vision. _It's still too fresh. I can't let myself think of this, not now, not ever. _Doing all of these things, they're nothing without Fred. But still I try—I try for my dear Mum, who worries about me every day. I try for the rest of my family, who tiptoe around me, expecting my 'newfound return to humanity' to shatter just as quickly as it surfaced. But most of all, I try so I can find a reason to live again.

Opening my eyes, I once again scanned the pitch. The players had long since landed, trudging back to the house, sharing a misery only a mixture of mud, grueling drills, and relentless rain could create. But through the misery, they looked… happy somehow.

I don't know why I still come out to watch them every time they practice. It was a sick, masochistic obsession, but I can never bear to tear myself away. It's like feeling this pain will somehow keep him alive within me. Like if I start to heal, he'll truly leave me forever… and that would be….

It would be _unlivable._

It was in this precise moment, during this line of thinking, that I feel a compelling urge to look in the direction the Great Lake. I can't explain it, but it was as if an invisible force suddenly possessed me.

I turned around, and my stomach plummeted. It was _her._

She was sitting, arms folded across her chest, a book lying forgotten at her feet. Something about the look on her face seemed strangely familiar. It was sad, but also...scared in a way. _What could have made her like this?_ She's always so vivacious, and full of life. It disorientated me to see her look so… haunted.

I walked quickly toward her, wondering what the hell I was doing, but still wanting to talk to her all the same.

_I don't know when she started to…fascinate me so much. Of course I had always known her—she was very hard to ignore. She was the only one to ever call Fred and me out on our troublemaking. Not that we paid much heed to her admonishments, but it was entertaining to watch her self-righteously try her hand to stop our constant pranks, her eyes alight with some kind of well founded passion for following the rules.. Her hair would mimic her mood in this case: flying out of control—wild spirals barely contained by a pin. Her cheeks would flush, and the voice she used—the authoritative, firm voice that gave both Fred and me fantasies of how…directive she would be in alternative situations… ahem… well, needless to say she wasn't unknown._

_But since the war, she personally took it upon herself to… make sure everyone could do what made them happy. I don't think she's made a real attempt to stop any light-hearted trouble since last year. She's different somehow. It took its toll on everyone, the fighting. She was so strong, and when it seemed like everyone was drowning in their sorrows in the aftermath, she bravely continued forward. I don't know how she did it, but she took over at the Burrow when Mum was…in a bad place—when we were all in a bad place. I guess she also made sure we all ate, and bathed, and continued a semblance of our lives…even if we weren't really living. Even if real happiness seemed a joke, something never again obtainable. As time progressed and people healed, eventually I was the only one left who would leave the prepared food politely outside my door, untouched…who still would not venture out of my room. I'll never forget how she called me on my shit. One day she barged in, and I recognized that familiar, emblazoned look. She yelled at me-said I needed to get off my sorry ass and at least try and live my life. She said she didn't care if I was hurting inside-I wasn't the only one anyway—but I should act like a human being again, if not for myself than for my Mum, and for my brothers, and for Ginny. And it sure pissed me off. Who did she think she was, yelling at me like that? But after a while, I realized the sense in her words._

_It's not like I suddenly was okay, and that I was over Fred's death… but she flipped a switch to tune me back to reality. And on top of all that, she tried to sneak a Hogwarts letter into my room. When I caught her, she fessed up, bold as you please, and said it was an official letter announcing the right for anyone to come back to the school to complete a year that had been lost during any aspect of the war. She said it was good to 'get the whole experience, relive the childhood' and at the very least 'scrape together enough Newts to round off my education.' Now I hated to admit it at the time, but certain knowledge areas of mine were a bit….lacking so to speak. Whatever compelled me to say yes I don't rightly know… but I do know that our group became much closer when we came back._

_Though she was with Ron, I started noticing her more often. I feel like she gave herself so much to me, that I had to return the favor. It started by just telling jokes in front of her—so that she would see I was trying to live again, but then it escalated to pranks, until that one day in the great hall, when I told that raunchy joke and touched her back—then something changed._

_Her touch felt…electrifying. And I couldn't control myself, I whispered sweet nothings into her ears, just to see her blush, to remember her flushed face of the past. And then…I was forever transfixed by her. Any rationale about Ron and their relationship… well I don't rightly know where it went._

When I reached the spot where she sat, I was surprised her abnormally observant self still hadn't noticed me. I felt the words tumble out of my mouth, ""You do realize practice has been finished for over an hour right? Or were you just hanging out, hoping to get a glance at this piece of perfection?" _There you go again, you idiot._

She looked up at me, genuinely surprised to see me standing there. I could see the hollowness of her eyes, and her body just remained listless. I sat down next to her, almost tentatively, but close enough to touch her arm. I needed to be next to her at that moment. _What happened?_

"Hey, what's wrong Hermione? Is it my prat of a brother?" I felt myself searching her face, trying to decipher her pain. When she looked at the ground, I just wanted to take her in my arms right then and there, but held myself back. "Well," she swallowed, searching for the right words, "sometimes."

"Ah. Well that is a problem." _What can I say, that will make this go away? What can I do, but be honest?_ "I guess the best thing I can tell you is that Ron means well, however he comes off. Do you want to know why I didn't play Quidditch this year?" I felt her freeze next to me. She knew what was coming.

_For you…for you I will remember._

"I just couldn't bear the thought of playing a sport that I had played my whole life with Fred—suddenly without him. We were a dynamic duo, each one half of a whole. I still can't bear the thought sometimes…" _It's what I remind myself of everyday. I wish I could bring him back. He would hate to see you like this too, Hermione._

Her small hand found mine in a movement that was both brave and scared. I tried to smile. It was so like her to give me what strength I needed, even if she had none herself.

"Anyway, Ron knew how much that would tear me up, so he tried to protect me. He tried forcing me to play with Lee, the closest equivalent he could think of to Fred, and he even dressed Lee in matching robes, with "Honorary Fred" stitched on the back." I drew a quick breath, to steady myself.

Without really thinking about it, I started tracing patterns on her hand.

"One day, I couldn't take the pitying stares from everybody. If it's one thing that will make you remember that someone's….not here anymore, it's the way people look at you. So I just quit. The game I loved so much wasn't worth playing without Fred anyway. Ron put on quite a show, really, yelling about how 'inconsiderate I was' after 'all he had done for me.' It was really the icing on the cake."

Her voice seemed to go right through me as she quietly spoke. "Oh George, I'm sorry." The sweet little thing even bit her lip to keep it from trembling. _She's trying to hold herself together for me. If only she knew how much I wanted to be near her, how much I wanted her to stop hurting. _

"So the moral of the story is that Ron is a well meaning, idiot." I finished.

"With the emotional range of a teaspoon?" she offered with a watery smile. "Exactly."

She looked at me for a moment, as if sizing me up. We both noticed how close we were sitting together. She smelled intoxicating—like honey and cherry blossoms, and parchment. Her eyes, golden brown, were beautiful, albeit a bit sad.

_Well,_ _if she couldn't be strong anymore, I needed to be. So I decided to do the thing I do best—act like an idiot._

"Well Hermione, if I knew how much you liked looking at me, I would've come over here much sooner," I joked. She dropped my hand as if it were on fire.

"George! You're—"

"Handsome? Dashing? Dare I say it—a man capable of knocking your socks off?"

"I was going to say audacious, unbearable, and—"

"You like it!" I smirked, "And who am I to deny a lady her pleasure? Don't stop on behalf of modesty. I am more than happy to oblige." _You have no idea, Hermione._

I grabbed her hand and pulled her up—though it was more like yanked her straight into my arms—she was so incredibly light.

_Don't deny me this, please. I need the feel of you in my arms, just once._

I crushed her into a hug, covering up by pretending to give her obnoxious kisses. But I saw a flash of pain cross her face and instantly let go.

"I'm sorry Hermione, did I hurt you? I—,"

She shook her head, cutting me off. "No, don't worry about it," she said, ""I fell on it earlier. One of my clumsier moments, I guess." There was something about the way she wouldn't make eye contact with me that made me not want to believe her. But maybe I was imagining things.

_Keep it together, George._

"I see, so what you're saying is you are horribly injured and must be administered to?" I winked at her, slipping my arm around her waist. She felt so perfect settled there in my arms, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The adrenaline coursed through me, and for a second, I lost my breath. I leaned in, anything to get closer—"Like I said, I am more than capable of obliging a lady in need." She shivered in my arms, which just gave me an excuse to hold her more tightly.

_Thank you for giving me this moment._

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle." I assured her, and hoisting her to over my shoulders, I couldn't help but laugh at her outrage.

"George! Put me down this instant!" She spoke with that direct, strong voice of hers. It was a voice that reminded me of the past. It reminded me of… Fred. It was beautiful.

"Oh Hermione dear, not even using that adorable authoritarian voice could convince me to let you down," I laughed. _Did I just say adorable?_

"You forget that I made a career of defying authority." I took the uneven path back to the castle, just for good measure.

"If you don't put me down, I'll—"

"Stop enjoying yourself?" I interjected.

"What, no—that's not what—," she stammered.

"Don't worry, Hermione, I know you act like you don't like my random acts of tomfoolery, but I can see right through your façade!"

_And as I said it, I knew it was true. She may be hard for other people to read, but I feel like I know the real her. Or, at least, I want to._

I winked at the passerby staring at us. Well, specifically, staring at Hermione. It must've seemed pretty comical.

"George," she asked tentively, "what made you want to talk to me today? Not that I'm ungrateful that you did, on the contrary I was…_.drowning._"

I didn't like the way that statement sounded coming from her. It sounded off.

"Do you really want to know?" She nodded her assent. "It was because you were…. the only person I've ever seen look…. sadder than me at a Quidditch pitch." _And that's just it. Why were you so stricken? _I swallowed the urge to press her about it.

"Oh."

"And because I couldn't let you off the hook for voluntarily dropping a book to daydream! Our bookworm really is making a run for the wild side," I joked.

"George? Just shut up."

"Fighting words. If that's how you want it…"

I moved her into my arms so I could properly see her face.

"I shall carry you across the threshold of the Great Hall while shouting about your willingness to discard a book so closely before exams all while dancing an Irish jig."

"You wouldn't dare!"

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Well, hopefully this chapter was to your liking. Now that I've got a base established, this story's action will start to pick up in the next chapters. Also, who caught all of the similarities between George in this chapter and Hermione in the last one? I did that on purpose:)

My reviewers—Shidoni 8, ilovefireryredheads, Joyce Malevolence, nataval—thank you.

Forgive-me-Severus: your worries are unfounded! It'll be okay.

CeliaEquus—this chapter was for you. Thanks for the critique! I hope it is slightly more believable now.


	5. Chapter 5

New chapter, sorry for delay. Summer frivolity really zaps an author's resolve…

By the way, in case most of you haven't caught on, this is rated M because of mature themes/violence/language. If you prefer K (general) rated stories, I will be writing one shortly. Much thanks!

**Chapter 4: Behind These Eyes**

All around the room, students discarded various layers of cloaks, ties, and sweaters onto nearby surfaces. The potions they were brewing made the room sweltering hot, and the lack of windows in the dungeon created an uncomfortable pressure in the air. Professor Slughorn walked slowly throughout the room, glancing over some bubbling cauldrons and peering concernedly into others that were emitting puffs of smoke and sparks.

"Careful now, only one newt per brew, only one." He hummed.

"Keep in mind students that you are attempting to make Venocalor, one of the most volatile, yet effective potions a person can make. Can anyone tell me what the uses and precautions of the Venocalor potion are?"

Slughorn stopped at the front of the class, fanning himself with a book labeled _The Pleasures of Leisurely Pursuit_. Sweat poured from his face, making him look even more askew than usual, and he still had a package of sugar coated pineapple, no doubt melted, creating a sticky mass on the side of his pants pocket.

"Ah yes, Miss Granger?"

He glanced at where I stood, slightly perched on the edge of my chair, where I currently was chopping egglewart, a finicky herb that adds to the degree of heat tolerance in the solution. Ron started slightly at the feel of my elbow into his side, an abrupt prodding awake.

Taking a breath, I answered, "The Venocalor potion is one that works off of varying degrees of heat. It has the ability to serve as both a weapon and a healing agent. If brewed correctly, it can either instantaneously cure hypothermia, or if allowed to stagnate, then it can be one of the most powerful poisons in the world, working through literally heating the person from the inside out." I paused, looking at my now finely chopped egglewart. Ron sat up quickly next to me, now under the scrutiny of Professor Slughorn, and attempted to rub the sleep out of his eyes nonchalantly.

"That being said, any mistake in brewing process would prove disastrous. The high level of heat required to make it increases the chances of explosions, not to mention the ingredients are—"

"Extremely volatile, yes," Slughorn finished, peering once again at the smoking cauldron's around the room, lingering especially over Neville's.

"Five points to Gryffindor, and Ronald, please refrain from sleeping and pull your own weight while in my class."

This remark prompted sniggers from the pairs of students surrounding our table. The tips of Ron's ears turned pink, and he muttered that sounded suspiciously like, "was only because it's so bloody hot in here," and "she had it handled anyway." Not letting him off the hook, I reached over his resting arm to open his book to the correct page, pursing my lips at his lack of attentiveness. _What am I, a workhorse? _

"Ron, could you please help me on this?" I asked, striving to sound nice when really I felt…more than exasperated at his inattentiveness.

"Well, I wouldn't want to botch it up—and…" He looked at me sheepishly, the tips of his ears still pink. I could tell he was grasping at straws, trying to find yet _another_ excuse to skiv off work.

"Besides…Hermione, you're so good at it!" Scratching the back of his head, his eyes peered into mine in no doubt what he thought was an imploringly cute face. His hand somehow found mine underneath the table, a gesture that I normally would've found sweet, had it not been for his ulterior motives of getting a top grade while making me do all the work.

"You know you want to!" he finished, completely convinced he had played me successfully. Eyebrows waggling, he puffed out his chest in a mock victory.

I promptly dropped his hand, and replying in the most dignified voice I could manage, I calmly retorted, "Don't presume to think you have even an inkling of my wants or desires. You're downright patronizing if you have the impression that I will let you just stick me with the entire assignment without a single protest on my part." _Since when have been I reduced to being his mother?_

Ron became progressively redder with each word of my berating. He sucked in a huge breath, preparing to verbally spout another argument, a ridiculously incredulous look upon his face. I glanced down at my right hand, which still held the cutting knife, clenched between five very white knuckles. I steadied my breath, once again reaching for a calm that was, as of late, very hard to secure whenever I was around Ron.

"And where do you get off, Hermione!" he said in a voice so loud, it prompted a few curious stares.

"Where do you think? You've been acting like I'm your personal assistant—I'm supposed to just sit there and take it?" I was beyond fuming now. I hate causing scenes-but he aroused an anger in me that couldn't be contained. It was humiliating, it was embarrassing, and it was just damn hot where we were sitting.

"That's not what I was saying and you know it!" He grabbed my wrist underneath the table, trying to establish control over me with a viselike grip—which tightened painfully, almost disorientating me, but I tried to ignore it.

"It seemed pretty clear to me!" I practically shouted. One tendril of hair sprung loose from my bun—I tried to blow it off my face, but it steadily remained. Everyone was staring at us now, and Professor Slughorn was decidedly making his way toward our table. Harry was already halfway out of his chair, but he wavered indecisively, not sure as whether or not to interfere. Or maybe he was just plain scared of our death glares.

"You can't just assume that I'll always do all of the work! You have to put some effort in too!" _Were we even talking about potions at this point?_

"I put in effort! How can you say that, Hermione?" He looked at me in such a way that I almost felt guilty for pulling that card. Almost.

"Will you two cool it? I know not everyone can behave as impeccably as myself, but this is reminiscent of a second Dark War," drawled Draco from behind me.

I whipped around, getting ready to give him a piece of my mind—the arrogant prick!—but then I caught eyes with George, who looked slightly amused, but also bore a look of concern and something else I couldn't place… My cheeks flushed, heart heavy, and I quickly dropped his gaze… it was humiliating, this constant fighting. Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I willed to disappear.

"Hey! Don't just ignore me!"

Narrowing his eyes, Ron muttered darkly, "Well fine, if that's what you think! I'm sorry I can't measure up to your standards, but I guess I can beat myself up to try and be your version of perfect!"

Furiously glancing at the potion's book, he read the first line of direction he saw. In one reckless movement, he swiped at a handful of egglewart and snatched up a newt off the table and threw it in the cauldron.

_Not the second newt!_ Gasping for a breath, I froze. In one horrible instant, I found myself unable to shout a warning. I knew what was going to happen—what was happening, but my voice was gone. When my body finally caught up with my mind, I didn't waste a moment.

"NOOOO, RON!" I screamed—jumping off my stool and pushing him to the floor. Not a second too soon, the room filled with a glorious white light—so blinding and terribly powerful it scared the living daylights out of me. I tried to cover as much of him as I could, because with the light came the searing pain of an improperly brewed Venocalor potion. The very oxygen in my lungs was knocked out of me as a piece of debris hit my back.

_I can't breathe! What's happening? _

Squinting, I panicked, trying to inhale—my lungs screaming in protest. _Is he okay? Somebody help! Is he okay?_

_It hurts!…_ As if detached from my body, I saw pieces of cauldron ricochet off the ceiling, and the smoke enveloped the room, clogging my lungs. I felt like I should have been crying….coughing… something. But there was nothing. _Make it stop! Make it stop!_

And then.

In and out of darkness… people staring over me, their eyes wide. Lips moving, wordless silence reaching my ears. Slughorn pushing them out of the way. Pain was everywhere, and suddenly it was nowhere…I tried to find the courage to keep my eyes open, but the lull kept me under. I didn't mind. Darkness is easy—its light you have to confront.

And then, nothing.

* * *

"Oi! You okay there, George?" Harry asked me, concern evident in his green eyes. He was one of the few lucky ones who hadn't been harmed in the explosion. I myself suffered some minor burns. But they were nothing—nothing—in comparison to what other injuries came out of that horrible accident.

I shivered, just thinking about that fiery mess. Being a jokeshop owner, I've had my fair share of misbrewed potion explosions—an inevitable outcome of experimentation for new products—but I have never seen something as extensive as that. Slughorn… well he was brilliant really. He managed to cast a shield charm over the majority of the classroom, and put out the resulting fires before anyone could blink an eye.

I nodded, just to alleviate his concern. It wasn't his fault, after all… how could he understand what I was feeling at this moment? Sighing, I picked my head up from its resting place in my hands, and looking around the hospital wing, it was evident that Madame Pomfrey had her hands tied up with patients.

I plucked up the courage to once again look at Hermione… lying in the hospital bed, bungled down by various needles poking out of her arms and medicines stacked on her bedside table, the severity of her situation truly scared me. She still hadn't awoken after she passed out during the accident…Her hair fanned around her head into a halo, and only her scrunched eyebrows betrayed any tension on her face…

They said the debris that hit her broke several ribs, and third degree burns covered her entire back. She looked so delicate, lying there, so utterly breakable and damaged, that it pulled at the chords of my heart just looking at her. _I don't know what I feel for her—what I feel about her—but this entire accident makes me even more confused, so much so that I can't sort out what I'm supposed to do._

I fought with myself—I wanted so badly to take her hand, offer her what small reassurance I could. Ron—who by her sacrifice had no injury whatsoever, save his ignorant pride—was nowhere to be found. I bit back a growl… Ginny said he had to take care of some 'business,' whatever the hell that meant. All I knew was that if my girlfriend had just risked her life to save my sorry ass, I would be there to make sure she got better…

_If I was lucky enough for her to be my girlfriend… what had they been arguing about earlier, anyway? It was hard to ignore the volume of their voices… he was expecting her to do all of the work? Whatever—it's not like it matters now… still…_

Looking at the clock, it chimed 9:00. Giving up on restraining myself, I stood and took her hand as gently as could, pressing a wrapped sweet in her hand. It was a weak excuse, a pretense—but it was the only thing I had to disguise my actions from everyone else. I felt a tingling sensation down my neck and when I turned around I saw Ginny staring at me with her annoyingly perceptive gaze. She raised an arched eyebrow, and chewed on the side of her cheek—which meant that she was puzzling something out. Damn her bloody smarts. Before I gave her any more clues that could potentially wreck what delicate balance there was between Hermione and myself, I hastily let go of her icy hand. At least the sweet would help with that, should she wake up and use it. Weasley's Wicked Tasties… we call them. A treat for the kiddies… gives the user a momentary surge of whatever the giver's intentional emotion was. I infused this particular one with comfort…

_Wake up soon, Hermione._

Steeling my resolve, I faced Ginny, who still stared at me with a funny expression, now twirling the end of her wand. Thankfully Harry, Neville, and the rest of the patients remained oblivious to this whole exchange. It wouldn't do to be caught macking on my younger brother's bird, even if Ron's a right prat. Speaking of the devil…

"I'm off… I have a few things to set straight," I said as I stood up, making extra sure to ruffle Gin's hair—just the way she hates it—on my way out the door.

"You sure it's your place?" she said in sharp tone that made me wince inwardly. The girl's just too perceptive for her own good… I froze momentarily, chewing on my words, thinking very carefully how to craft my next response.

Putting on my best prankster smirk, I peered carelessly over my shoulder, tossing her a wicked peek at my pearly whites.

"I don't know what you're talking about, _Ginerva, _but someone has to take care of the rubbish!"

_And by take care of the rubbish, I do mean all of it._

* * *

End chapter 4. Next chapter up soon. Reviews much appreciated. The next chapter is a… steamy one with George and Hermione (finally, haha!) Always, F.G.


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